


the thing with feathers

by Yersina



Series: leap before you look [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rated for mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24866446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: “I can’t take this job.” Minho stares down at the innocuous manila file like it’ll suddenly disappear if he glares at it for long enough. “I don’t have enough time. I don’t have enough resources.There’s another team on this,”he stresses. “Even if I go, they’ll beat me to it.”Kim Ilseong pins him with a long look, icy blue contacts unnaturally bright against his deathly pale skin and jet black hair. “You misunderstand me, Lee Minho.” He leans forward across his mahogany desk, never blinking. “I own you. Isn’t. That. Right.” Each word falls from his lips like drops of venom from the fangs of a hissing snake.“Yes.”“So you’ll take the job and come back with my priceless artifact,” he says steadily. “Or you’ll die trying. Is that clear?”Minho unclenches his teeth and tastes blood in his mouth. “Very.”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: leap before you look [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799347
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124





	the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> this is lowkey way more serious than the first fic in this series, but i swear to god there's a more lighthearted sequel in the works. 
> 
> this fic stands alone! it takes place in the same universe as 50% crazy, 100% headache, but all you need to know is that all of skz are on the ~shady~ side of the law. chronologically, it takes place before headache.
> 
> title from emily dickinson's hope is the thing with feathers.

“I can’t take this job.” Minho stares down at the innocuous manila file like it’ll suddenly disappear if he glares at it for long enough. “I don’t have enough time. I don’t have enough resources. _There’s another team on this,”_ he stresses. “Even if I go, they’ll beat me to it.”

“You’re one of my best men,” Kim Ilseong says dismissively, flapping a hand like it’ll somehow make all of Minho’s concerns go away. “A little competition never hurt anyone.”

 _It does when the other side has guns,_ Minho thinks bitterly. The scar on his right side twinges at the reminder. “I can’t take this job. I _can’t.”_

Kim Ilseong pins him with a long look, icy blue contacts unnaturally bright against his deathly pale skin and jet black hair. “You misunderstand me, Lee Minho.” He leans forward across his mahogany desk, never blinking. “I _own_ you. Isn’t that right?” Minho stares at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek and painfully tempted to cross his arms over his chest like it’ll serve as protection. “Isn’t. That. Right.” Each word falls from Kim Ilseong’s lips like drops of venom from the fangs of a hissing snake.

“Yes.”

“So you’ll take the job and come back with my priceless artifact,” he says steadily. “Or you’ll die trying. Is that clear?”

Minho unclenches his teeth and tastes blood in his mouth. “Very.”

* * *

Minho quickly decides that stealing the artifact on his own isn’t worth the trouble. The amount of effort it would take to canvas the target’s private collection, security system, guard rotation—he doesn’t have the time, the tech, or the money to make it happen.

So he decides to steal from the thieves instead.

He’s heard of this group before, one that doesn’t have a name quite yet but most people in the business are simply referring to as ‘the kids’ for how young they are. They’ve made a name for themselves in a few short months as a group whose loyalties can’t be bought and judging from their past jobs, Minho has no problem believing that they’ll pull this one off without a hitch. 

He spends nearly an entire month chasing down rumors through word of mouth and an inadvisable amount of under-the-table deals until he’s pinpointed their current base to a high rise apartment leased under a fake name across the city from where he thinks they’ll stash the artifact. A couple of sleepless nights later, and he has the name of the one with the gentle smile and brown hair currently shoved under a baseball cap.

Kim Seungmin.

He watches through binoculars as Kim Seungmin pays for a tub of ice cream and two big bags of burgers, feeling his own stomach rumble in sympathy. The gnawing hunger moves up his chest the closer Kim Seungmin gets to the apartment, and by the time he’s up the elevator and passing off a bag of takeout to someone who Minho is fairly certain is Yang Jeongin, there’s a phantom pain sitting right behind his breastbone.

It’s kind of sad, he thinks, staring at the blue cap bobbing up and down as the group passes food amongst each other, to be feeling envious of his marks. Sure, he’s felt jealous anger towards the rich homeowners that he’s stolen from before, displaying art and hoarding money that they didn’t really know the meaning of, but he’s never had this needle-sharp wistfulness pricking his veins. It feels a little too much like regret, a sister to wishful thinking and almost a twin to hope, so he squashes it down before it can grow into something with wings that can take off like a flight of fancy. 

He has a job to do.

The kids don’t seem to be in a rush to complete the mission and Minho has nothing better to do for the next week or two, so he spends an hour or two every day keeping an eye on their whereabouts, watching Seo Changbin cuff Han Jisung over the head and Bang Chan watch over their antics like a mother hen, never without another member of his team for very long. 

He doesn’t even realize how much of a routine it becomes, to dedicate a few hours of his life every week to watching the daily lives of people who don’t know he exists, until Kim Ilseong calls him into his office again.

“You’re late,” he says dangerously. The contacts are green this time, Minho notes, to match the emerald shimmer of his tie. “My client is getting impatient.” 

“Like I said, this job takes time—”

“That you don’t have,” Kim Ilseong interrupts. He steeples his hands under his chin and looks down at Minho like a ruler at a subject. “I’m going to dock your pay.” Minho bites back the automatic protest, but Kim Ilseong notices it anyway. “This is a lenient punishment, Minho,” he simpers, teeth impossibly white against his crimson lips, “because you’re my best. There are certainly other ways I could ensure your obedience…” He doesn’t so much as twitch, but Minho is suddenly much more aware of the looming bodyguards flanking both sides of the desk. 

“Thank you,” he lies, and leaves before he can do something stupid like force a knife through the center of Kim Ilseong’s forehead.

He returns to watching the kids with a barely trembling hand, but it’s almost as if they can sense his discomfort, pulling out blueprints the next day and crowding around the dining room table. It makes him suspicious even though he’s certain that they have no idea he’s there but the relief is enough to mask it, knowing that he’ll soon have what Kim Ilseong wants and he won’t have to spend each day with thistles growing in his heart. 

By the end of the week, Kim Seungmin is calmly driving a car with a box containing the artifact safely secured in the passenger seat to the storage facility, and Minho is readying his own equipment. The climate controlled storage facility doesn’t have public access, but he charms the lady at the desk into letting him past without an ID. Not even thirty seconds with the lock has him twisting the knob and stepping inside, flicking the light on to illuminate a dozen boxes of varying size and a gun pointed at his head.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you’d show up,” Han Jisung exclaims brightly, clambering up from his lazy sprawl in the corner of the room. The movement does nothing to shake his unwavering aim at Minho’s chest. “Hyunjin didn’t believe me when I said there was someone tailing us, but Chan-hyung knows to trust my instincts.”

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to be sharing your names with a stranger?” It’s not the most sensical negotiation tactic Minho’s ever gone with, but he’s talked his way out with worse.

Han Jisung shrugs. “I mean, if you don’t know them already, then you’re kind of a shit criminal,” he says matter-of-factly, giving Minho a consolatory wince like he didn’t mean to insult Minho’s law-breaking abilities. “So, why are you after us?”

Minho debates his answer for a split second, but the wide, curious eyes that Han Jisung meets his gaze with pushes him towards the truth. “I’m not here for you so much as your treasure over there,” he says, nodding at the box that he knows contains the artifact. “If you don’t need it, then I’d be happy to take it off your hands…?”

Han Jisung sucks in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. “Can’t help you there—gotta feed the kids, you know?” Minho nods even though he’s never worked in a team like they do. “But you misunderstood my question.” Han Jisung stands up ever so slightly straighter from his slouch against a wooden crate, leaning forward and staring straight at Minho like he could see into his soul. “Who sent you after us?” 

“Kim Ilseong,” he says without hesitation and can’t help the wry smile that crosses his face when Jisung pulls a face at the name. 

“You’re kidding me. Kim Ilseong, really?” The name is spat from Han Jisung’s mouth like he wants it touching his vocal cords as little as possible. 

Minho rolls a one-shouldered shrug. “He has a buyer and he needed me to steal it, so I did. Or, was going to.” 

Han Jisung narrows his eyes, giving Minho a blatant once-over and sending him a disbelieving look. “You? Kim Ilseong? Really? What’d he do to win your loyalty? Give you a mansion? An island in the Pacific Ocean? A hundred diamonds? I’ve heard of you, you know—your skills are valuable.”

“He lets me live,” Minho replies, just a little too truthfully. 

Han Jisung freezes at the answer, and there’s a flash of emotion on his face that Minho thinks might fall somewhere between anger and sadness. “Well, that’s not much of a life, is it?” he says softly, and _oh,_ this is unfair. The gentle tone feels like a hundred feathers growing beneath his skin, soft but sharp, and it digs into Minho like knives.

“Well, not all of us have people looking out for us,” he snaps before he can think, immediately shutting his mouth with a click and pulling his cheek between his teeth. He’s shown too much of his hand and this isn’t a game he wants to lose. 

Han Jisung falls silent, not like he’s not sure how to respond, but like he doesn’t know if the answer he has to give is one that Minho wants to hear. “You can,” he says finally, and Minho didn’t think there was anything worse than the soft-sharp knives of feathers, but this is it. A carrot, forever out of reach, and he’s so, _so_ tempted to chase it.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

“What if I mean it,” Han Jisung challenges, staring Minho in the eye like he’s daring Minho to defy him. “Chan-hyung’s usually the one who does the welcome speeches but—you’re welcome. You’d fit in with us.”

“I don’t want your pity.” But he _does,_ and he’s not sure why he’s fighting this so hard other than that he doesn’t know how to work for—or with—people who aren’t Kim Ilseong.

“It’s not pity.” It’s said with so much gravitas that Minho almost believes him, but it still rings like a lie in Minho’s ears. “I can make it easier for you, though.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

Han Jisung grins and Minho feels like he’s falling, wind catching half-grown feathers and swallowing all the words that bubble up in his throat as it whips past his face. The gun tilts upwards until the barrel’s pointed squarely between Minho’s eyes, the distance between them close enough to be fatal no matter how bad of a shot he is. “Join us or die, Lee Minho.” 

Bizarrely enough, Minho can feel an answering smile growing on his own face, the sensation strangely unfamiliar when paired with the lightness in his chest. “I don’t think you’re real, Han Jisung.”

The laugh that he lets out feels like a gust of warm wind and Minho dares to think that maybe his wings have been clipped for long enough. “I just need a yes or no.”

Minho considers the thistles in his blood and knife-sharp feathers in his skin, the colored contacts and blood-red lips and venomous words dripping from between bone white teeth, and makes his decision as easily as tipping backwards and trusting the wind to carry him upwards. 

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


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